i saw a man walking
looking around bushes
with familiar golf hat
and golf club maybe 7
i realized he was that
gentleman who told me
to work my way to eighties
by keeping myself active
like playing golf or plain
walking on green green grass
that was eighten years ago
keeping up with his advise
he is now 76; four years
but he is using club 9
i ask him why number 9
was it a cat has it
he said that's his eyesight
beyond that he can't see
i haven't had a chance
seeing him with number 8
he said he sold his golf cart
it's making him lazy and fat
we have a nice chat under rain
we laughs, we share, we comment
said 'i have to pick my best shot;
keep repeating that' that's great
he is greater; hitting balls still
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem